The room was
filled with a continuous tick tock sound. His father was a collector of all
kinds of clocks and the room was full of them. Hundreds on walls and may be a
thousand on the tables all around the room. Tick tock they went relentlessly as
if they were all on an unending journey. Their hands moved unstoppably.
The seven
year old boy cowered in a corner under a sheet. Sometimes he pulled down the
sheet to look at the fan rotating on its axis keeping time with the tick tock. His
mind lulled to the constant humming of the clocks and fell into a kind of a
lazy slumber. By the end of the hour when his body was about to be engulfed in
sleep the simultaneous chimes of the clocks would jolt him back to
sleeplessness and the process would start again. The night outside the clock
covered walls remained silent.
Twenty five
years later he would spend the first few weeks after his marriage smashing all
the clocks and watches he got as gift.
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